


Realisation

by triste



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triste/pseuds/triste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started off as a harmless prank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Realisation

Title: Realisation  
Author: Triste  
Fandom: Hetalia  
Pairing: America/Fem!England  
Rating: NC-17  
Warnings: Genderswitch  
Status: Complete  
Disclaimer: Not mine

~~

It started off as a harmless prank. Annoying England was always fun. That was why America had decided to raid her underwear drawer, because an angry and embarrassed England never failed to amuse him.

“You’ve got some pretty fancy stuff here,” he teased, waving a lacy bra under her nose only to snatch it away at the last second when she made a grab for it. “It’s sexier than I thought it’d be. Presents from France?”

“Hardly,” England scoffed, hands on her hips. “Don’t you dare damage any of those! You have no idea how much they cost!”

America raised an eyebrow, taking a closer inspection of England’s lingerie while continuing to keep it obnoxiously out of her reach. For a woman who firmly believed in things like practicality and functionality, England sure did seem to have a lot of extravagant undergarments.

“I don’t know why you even bother with this,” America said, his grin truly evil. “It’s not like you have anyone to show it off to, right?”

England turned an even darker shade of red. “That is quite enough. Give them back!”

“Or what?” America grinned. “You’ll form a Scary Women’s Alliance with Hungary and Belarus?”

Too irked to retort, England took advantage of the difference in their height by ducking under America’s arms that were still tauntingly waving her underwear about and stamping down hard on his left foot. America yelped in pain, giving England ample opportunity to regain her precious lingerie.

“Let that be a lesson,” she warned. “Try that again and I’ll kick you in the crotch.”

America grumbled under his breath about England not being able to take a joke, but he didn’t dare to repeat himself when England glared and ordered him to speak up properly.

Satisfied she had won, England turned and stalked back into the house. America was left to stand outside, dejected, after having the door slammed in his face when he tried to follow her.

It wasn’t his fault England had failed to see the humourous side of the situation. America had only been trying to cheer her up, admittedly by having fun at her expense, but he supposed he should count himself lucky to escape with nothing more than a bruised foot. England hadn’t broken any bones, though America knew her to be perfectly capable of accomplishing such a task.

America sighed, shoving his hands inside his pockets. He was surprised to feel something soft and silky brushing against his fingers. It turned out to be a pair of England’s panties when he pulled them out for inspection. America wondered if he ought to knock on the door and give them back. No, he decided. England wasn’t going to let him in any time soon. He might as well keep hold of them until she’d calmed down.

America snickered, picturing himself handing them back in front of all the other nations at one of their conferences. No doubt England’s reaction would be priceless, but now that America thought about it further, he wasn’t entirely sure England would allow him to survive after humiliating her in such a way, and in front of others. She would surely do much worse than kick him in the crotch. She probably wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d castrated America with a pair of rusty scissors.

America shuddered, quickly wiping away the mental images. What was it about females and their fearsomeness? Thank god the world was a relatively peaceful place nowadays. England used to love nothing more than a good war. Fortunately, she seemed more or less content to stay at home rather than terrorising the rest of Europe. Unless she was off on holiday somewhere, that was. The English were notorious for their drunken exploits abroad. Adding football to the mix only made matters worse.

It was just one of the many things that made England so absurdly eccentric. In a way, it was kind of cute, America supposed. Like England’s hobby of collecting expensive underwear.

Thinking about that made America take a closer look at the panties he’d stolen (accidentally, of course) once he arrived back home. He’d never really considered what kind of things England might wear underneath her trademark pleated skirts and sweater vests before (at least not very often), but he wouldn’t have imagined anything like what he’d just seen.

America reclined on the bed, lifting the panties curiously and rubbing them between his thumb and forefinger. They felt smooth and cool to the touch. America suddenly found himself wondering what England might look like with them on. Then he found himself wondering what she might look like while he took them off for her.

Face hot, America rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face against the sheets. He was hard, he realised. Thinking about England like this was turning him on.

It made him feel guilty and excited both at once. More than that, it made him want to touch himself.

He wondered what England would do if she knew what he was doing. Would she be furious? Shocked? Or would she put adopt the infamous British stiff upper lip approach by pretending to ignore everything?

America had no idea. As a child, England had always been the nurturing sisterly influence in his life. When he’d grown older, he’d come to see her as something of a nagging wife or mother. He’d never really viewed her in a sexual manner before, unlike France who never missed an opportunity to hit on her.

Did France think of England like this? Had he ever gone beyond flirting and the occasional grope? Would England have allowed him? Their relationship was a strange and complicated one. Trying to understand it only gave America a headache. It also made him feel somewhat jealous.

America wasn’t sure what to think anymore. It wasn’t easy to just shut his mind off and stop all thought processes, not when he kept wondering what it might be like to kiss England. To touch England. To sleep with England.

America rolled over onto his back again, squeezing his eyes shut and moving his free hand to the front of his pants, palming himself through the fabric as he lifted the panties to his face. He breathed in their scent, fresh and clean with whatever England had washed them with, rubbing them against his cheek, his lips.

He was panting already, clumsy fingers tugging at his zipper, pushing his pants and shorts down just enough to free his cock. He jerked himself off steadily, still thinking of England, still wondering what it might be like to feel England’s hands on him rather than his own.

That was when he realised how much he wanted it, how much he wanted *her*.

Nothing was going to be the same again.

~~

Everything was different now. America couldn’t go back to treating England the way he had before. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t attracted to her. England was perceptive. She knew something was wrong but chose not to comment on America’s odd behaviour. Instead she drank her tea in silence while America watched.

He couldn’t seem to stop staring at her lately. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from wanting to touch her. She was wearing her hair down today, he noticed. Usually she tied it up in pigtails. America had always loved yanking them to get on her nerves. Nothing had stopped him from doing that in the past. It made him wonder why he was so nervous about trying it now.

It wasn’t just the hair pulling. America found himself remembering the many times he’d stolen England’s glasses for his own amusement. It was the same when he’d stolen her underwear.

No wonder she’d never really stopped treating him like a child.

Was that how she thought of him, as nothing more than an ungrateful, immature brat? In retrospect, America couldn’t exactly blame her. Situations may change overnight, but people did not.

In the end, America chose not to give the panties back as he’d originally planned. He couldn’t, not after what he’d done with them. England would probably hate him if she knew. America was nosy and interfering by nature, but even he knew how wrong it was to invade another person’s privacy, especially when it was a woman’s. They seemed to value it more than men, for some reason. And England was a lady in spite of also being a former delinquent.

America sighed. England glanced at him over the rim of her teacup. “That’s the fifth time in as many minutes,” she stated. “I’ve never known you this quiet. Something is obviously wrong.”

“I’m fine,” America said hastily. He knew he must have been blushing. He could only hope England would choose not to comment on it. “Don’t worry about it. Everything is great.”

“Really.” England didn’t seem convinced.

There was an awkward silence. America twiddled his thumbs, wishing for some sort of noise or activity as a distraction. “Can I turn the radio on?”

“It’s ‘may I’ not ‘can I’,” England corrected. “But yes, all right. You may.”

This was normal, America told himself, relieved. This hadn’t changed. It gave him some of the reassurance he’d been sorely in need of since he’d begun looking at England in a different light.

The sound of piano playing filled the room, some classical piece America didn’t know the name of. He didn’t change the station. He didn’t want to make England complain about having to listen to the “headache-inducing bollocks” he called music. England loved having something to complain about. Complaining was, after all, one of her favourite hobbies.

America could have let things lie. He could have just kept his mouth shut. Instead he suddenly found himself blurting out, “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

England cast him another glance, this one considerably steelier than the last. “That is none of your business.”

America tried to sound casual. “Is there anyone you want to kiss?”

“Not particularly. What brought this on?”

“Nothing.” America laughed nervously. “I was just curious, is all.”

“Is there anyone *you* want to kiss?”

America coughed nervously. Had England seen through him that easily? If that was the case, she seemed awfully calm. Maybe there was no need for him to be so panicked. Maybe he should just come out with the truth. That was what he tended to do, act first and deal with the consequences later.

“Um,” he said.

England sighed. “France told me this day would come eventually. I never thought you’d come to me for guidance after being so determined to go against everything I’ve taught you, but no matter.”

“Er,” America said. He wasn’t quite following the conversation anymore. Had England somehow gotten the wrong impression?

“You never really seemed to grow up,” England informed him. “Not mentally, anyway. This day has come sooner than I thought it would.”

“For what?”

“The talk.”

“Aren’t I a little old to be learning about the birds and the bees?” America was insulted. “Besides, I already know about that stuff.”

He tactfully refrained from mentioning how.

“That is not what I meant,” England said. “I was talking about courtship. Romance. Love.”

America snickered rudely. “And what would you know about any of those?”

England blushed. “Don’t be cheeky. I’m trying to help.”

America straightened his face. It took some effort. “Why are you doing this?”

“Isn’t it obvious? The way you’ve been acting so strangely. The way you keep sighing at regular intervals. The way you’ve been asking intimate questions. Doesn’t that point towards being in love?”

When she put it like that, America couldn’t help but blush.

“It doesn’t matter who you’re in love with,” England continued. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m not going to force you. I am merely here to offer you advice as your former guardian.”

She really didn’t know, America told himself. She hadn’t figured it out yet. Not that America was in love with her or anything, because he wasn’t. Was he?

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Let’s say there is someone I like. What should I do?”

“The first and most important thing is to confess,” England lectured. “Once your confession is accepted, then you move on to wooing her. Or him. Gender seems to be of little relevance between nations.”

“It is when you’re France,” America said brightly. “Male, female, extraterrestrial. It doesn’t matter to him. He’ll bang anything as long as it has a pulse.”

“Leave that pervert out of this. More importantly, do not follow his example.”

“Fear not. Heroes are monogamous.”

“I’m sure they are.”

England was doing it without realising it, talking down to him. It had never really bothered America in the past. Now it was starting to irritate him. He wasn’t a kid anymore, but he could see why the way he acted might make England think otherwise.

“So,” America said. “About those courtship rituals you mentioned.”

England nodded. “You should compliment your partner if you want to impress them. Giving them presents is also beneficial.”

America smirked. “Like underwear?”

England coughed discreetly. “That would depend on what your partner would appreciate.”

“You would appreciate it,” America said innocently.

“I am not the one that you’re attempting to court,” England argued.

“What if I said you were?” America inquired, testing the waters.

“Then I would say you’re lying,” England replied flatly.

America frowned. He knew England was stubborn. He also knew he’d given her little reason to believe he was telling the truth. Honesty really was the best policy. There was nothing for it but to reveal what he’d been hiding.

“The other day,” America said, his voice low and measured, his gaze fixed firmly on England’s, “I thought of you while I masturbated.”

England’s eyes widened. “That joke was in bad taste. Take it back.”

“I won’t.” America got out of his seat, moving slowly to where England was sitting. “I wasn’t kidding.”

He could see the anxiety and confusion in England’s eyes the closer he came. It made him feel very protective. If she didn’t believe him, then America would simply have to prove it to her.

As expected, England tasted of tea when America kissed her. She didn’t respond, not that America had been expecting her to, but she didn’t push him away either. It was a start. It wasn’t the best, but it also wasn’t the worst.

“Why?” England whispered.

America smiled, affectionate. “Do I need a reason?”

“I don’t understand,” England said.

“Me neither,” America admitted. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

He waited for England to punch him or kick him, one or the other, but when she didn’t, he kissed her again. England let him. She even kissed back, slightly uncertain, and it felt good. It was more than good. It was amazing. And, if America’s luck held out, it could only get better. He didn’t have to wonder what it would be like to kiss or touch England anymore. Now he could actually do it.

Still, he had to make sure. “You okay?” he said.

Naturally, England took offence. “Of course. I’m not some delicate maiden. Don’t expect me to go swooning into your arms over one little kiss.”

“Two kisses,” America reminded her. “And the second one had tongue.” He put a stop to whatever comeback she was about to make by removing her glasses carefully from her face. Her eyes were a much more vivid shade of green without them. “Pretty. No wonder they call you the Emerald Isle.”

“That’s my brother, you idiot,” England said scathingly. “How could you confuse me with Ireland?”

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be connected? Hence the name United Kingdom?”

England gave a very unladylike snort. “United? Far from it. Like I’d want anything to do with that ginger pillock Scotland and Wales the sheep shagging bastard.”

“And I thought your relationship with France was bad.” America kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose. “Our relationship is stronger, right? That’s why it’s special. Everyone envies it.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

She didn’t mean it. She wouldn’t have been smiling if she had. Then again, England wouldn’t be England if she weren’t in denial about every little thing. She seemed to love being in denial almost as much as she loved complaining.

“You’re so weird,” America said, not even giving her the chance to respond before he kissed her again.

He let his hands wander to England’s hair, savouring the feel of her hair as it slipped through his fingers, but he wanted to touch more than just that. Daring, he slid one hand round to her front, curving it over her left breast. England gasped into his mouth when he squeezed it gently, so he did it again, this time coaxing a small moan from her.

“We should move,” she managed. “If you plan on continuing this any further, I mean.”

That was all the consent America needed. He scooped her up bridal-style, not listening to her squawks of protest about how undignified it was to be carried like this as he made his way to the master bedroom.

Feeling mischievous, America tossed her onto the mattress, laughing when she swore at him.

Things soon turned serious when he joined her. It was different when they kissed this time, more intense. They started off side by side, but then America rolled England onto her back to settle his body on top of hers. He rested most of his weight onto his forearms, not wanting to crush her, and England linked her arms loosely around his shoulders.

“Still okay?” he asked.

“For now,” England replied.

She was beginning to sound unsure of herself again, like she might change her mind if America gave her the chance.

“Don’t worry,” he said confidently. “This is going to be awesome.”

That brought the smile back to England’s face. America kissed it, not really needing any encouragement. England relaxed little by little, her fingers toying with the fine hairs at the nape of America’s neck.

Getting undressed proved to be difficult. It wasn’t so hard for America to shrug out of his hoodie while England, as ever, was dressed in at least three layers of clothing. Her sweater vest was first to go. Under the vest was a blouse and under the blouse there was a camisole. The only article remaining at the end was a blue lace bra.

“You finally found someone to show this off to, huh?” he said. But England had the last laugh when America spent the following few minutes trying and failing to undo the clasp. “What the hell? How do you get these things off?”

England rolled her eyes, muttering something about useless men before sitting up to unfasten the clasp herself. Once that was finished, she lowered his gaze self-consciously as though half expecting him to laugh or make fun.

“See?” America said. “The awesomeness just keeps on coming.”

Getting to touch England without her many layers of clothing in the way was so much better. America’s hands went straight to her breasts, cupping them, testing their weight. He watched her reaction carefully as his thumbs brushed her nipples, watched her shudder and bite down on her lip.

America pushed England gently down onto her back again, his mouth taking over where his hands left off. He kissed his way down her throat to her breasts, moving over to one and sucking the nipple into his mouth. England moaned, arching under him. Biting it made her jerk and cry out.

There was a scar below her right breast, America discovered, and one above her left hip when he unzipped her skirt. She’d done her share of fighting back in the day. Finding remnants of that history shouldn’t have been so surprising. America slowly slid the black thigh-high socks down and off her legs. All that was left were the panties, blue to match the bra, of course. They were slightly damp when America slipped a hand between her legs and pressed against them. He hooked his fingers under the fabric, finding her slick to the touch.

“Take them off,” England ordered breathlessly. America did so, leaving her completely naked before him. “Now you.”

America shimmed out of his pants and underwear, letting England take her turn in touching him. Unlike him, she didn’t bother taking the time to explore. She went in for the kill.

“Christ Almighty!” America exclaimed as those slender fingers curled around his cock. He immediately regretted saying anything when England immediately withdrew her hand. “Don’t stop! Please.”

He certainly wasn’t above begging, not for this. He was also far less shy about voicing his appreciation when England touched him again. He’d fantasised about having those hands on his hard-on before. Now he was experiencing it for real.

England’s hands were smaller and slender than his, but they weren’t quite as soft as America had imagined. As with the scars, he supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised. England hadn’t exactly lived an easy life. She’d worked hard for what she had. America watched intently as England worked his cock, unable to tear his eyes away. This was so incredibly hot. He still couldn’t work out why it had taken him so long to realise his own attraction. Then again, he’d never seen England like this before. If he had, he would have fallen for her so much sooner.

France was forever bemoaning the fact that England chose to dress for comfort rather than to flatter her figure. America could understand why now. Being as reserved and conservative as she was didn’t help. Did she even know how sexy she could be? It was possible. America himself hadn’t noticed until recently.

England’s gaze flickered up to meet his. “Did you really do it?” she asked, voice low and husky. “You know... while thinking of me?”

“Yeah,” America answered. “Have you ever...?”

“No. It never felt right. You weren’t mature enough.”

America only had himself to blame for that. He also had the chance to show England just how much he’d really grown.

“A child would never do this,” he said, leaning in to kiss England. “Or this.” His hand found its way back between England’s legs, sliding first one, then two fingers inside her. England gasped loudly, her own fingers tightening around America’s cock.

“No,” she answered shakily. “I suppose not.”

What was it England had mentioned before about courtship rituals? Something about compliments, if America remembered correctly. Flattery was good. It made people more willing to do what they were asked.

“That was my fault,” America said. “For being... well, such an inconsiderate ass.”

“Oh.” England sounded pleased. “As long as you understand.”

She loosened her grip on America, much to his disappointment, but then she did something entirely unexpected by nudging at his chest until he was lying on his back before crawling over on all fours to straddle him.

America’s throat went dry. He couldn’t seem to speak at all.

“You okay?” England said, repeating the same thing America had already asked her. It was taking every inch of America’s willpower to stay still, to let England do whatever she would.

“Fuck,” he grunted, hands fisting the sheets.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” And without further ado, England lowered herself onto America’s cock.

America hadn’t been wrong. It was the single most incredible thing that had ever happened to him, being inside England like this. It got even better when she began to move, bracing her palms on his chest and gradually building up a rhythm as their bodies fell into synch. America couldn’t restrain himself any longer. His hands moved over every part of England he could reach, her thighs, her hips, her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers. It made her moan and ride him harder, head falling back on her shoulders, throat exposed. America wanted to bite and mark it. Later, he told himself. They would do all of this again and more in the near future, if he had his way.

Afterwards, dazed, drained and utterly sated, America stared up at the ceiling in awe as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

“How awesome was that?” he said, waiting for England to respond and glancing over in concern when she didn’t. She had already dozed off. America wasn’t sure whether to be offended or amused. “Why do you always fall asleep so quickly? And wait, shouldn’t it be the guy who conks out straight after sex?”

Still, it couldn’t stop America from feeling smug. He must have done something right to make her actually pass out.

America was grinning like a fool, but he didn’t care. Reaching over, he pinched England’s nose, grinning even wider when she stirred and made a noise of discomfort.

“Oh, all right. I’ll let you sleep.”

And America eventually joined her.

 

End.


End file.
